You Have a Book?

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Why Yes, I do, and I’m very excited and humbled to finally share my writing with readers.

What’s it about? (from the back cover)

Stump the Librarian: A Writer’s Book of Legs is a diverse collection of creative writing that explores Alan Samry’s life as a congenital below-knee amputee and a public librarian. Alan’s cross-genre writing in creative nonfiction, poetry, essays, satire, and experimental writing weaves fascinating mythical, historical, and literary figures into his own absorbing story of being a “born amputee.” In the book, with chapters organized as though the reader were exploring a public library, Alan writes about his experiences in an open, insightful, and humorous way. In his search for other leg amputees, Alan finds a new way of seeing himself, and the world around him.

When is it coming out and where can I buy it?

The book, published by Intellect Publishing, will be available for purchase locally, on Amazon, and for libraries through Ingram in mid-October in print and as an e-book.

Stump the Librarian Book Launch Party

Tuesday, October 23, 2018

Fairhope Public Library-Giddens Auditorium

501 Fairhope Avenue, Fairhope, Alabama 36532

6:00 PM

More details on the launch party and other author events coming soon.

 

 

Need Some April Reading?

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I’m hoping the March showers will bring April flowers here in Lower Alabama. In the meantime, here’s some links to an article on relationships, the great global nonfiction versus fiction debate, and links for amputees, poets, and librarians.

For Amputees

This month is Limb Loss Awareness Month. (#LLAM) The Amputee Coalition of America’s National Limb Loss Resource Center is a great place to find information for anyone with limb loss, from born amputees like me, to those recovering from amputation surgery.

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Relationships

My wife Susan and I celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary last month. In a Facebook post, my cousin Gayle asked, “What’s the most important thing to share about your time together?”

“Friendship, empathy, forgiveness, funniness, and affection are a few important things,” I posted. About a week later, I read the article below. No matter the relationship, I think understanding one another is profoundly difficult and infinitely more challenging to sustain.

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For Readers and Writers

The next storm that crossed my path is the relationship readers and writers navigate between fiction and nonfiction. This global multilingual discussion will have you wondering about the origins of the word nonfiction and questioning the meaning of story.

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Student Librarians and Poets

Since it’s also National Poetry Month, I’ve included a link to an article that I netted for a library school assignment about Charles Bukowski. It’s not his poetry at the other side of the link below. A well-written (if a bit raunchy) profile from a 1976 Rolling Stone magazine interview has motivated me to go and read some Bukowski this April.

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Don’t forget, next week (April 10-16) is National Library Week, so visit your library, online (Fairhope Public Library) or in-person, to learn how Libraries Transform.

 

 

Do you know Annie Easley?

 

On Saturday, I had a high school student come up to the reference desk with her mom.

Her mom said, “Go ahead, ask him.”

“Good morning, can I help?”

“I’m looking for information on Annie Easley.”

Do you know Annie Easley? If you do, I’m impressed. I have never heard of her.

So we went to the OPAC, or Online Public Access Catalog and typed in the name.

0 results

“I found some things on the internet, but I need a book source,” she told me.

So I asked the student, who I will call J, what she had already found out about her. Easley was a scientist, and a mathematician.

“Follow me,” I said, confident that I could find a reference book with her name in it.

I pulled some subject encyclopedias on science, and women in science. Nothing.

Bound and determined to find J. some print on paper, I conducted my reference interview, then grabbed some sources. J and I scanned and skimmed alphabetical entries and indexes. Still nothing.

I learned more about Easley along the way, interviewing J about how she learned about Easley. J was African American, and so was Easley, and it’s February (African American History month), but she was not on a teacher’s list of people to research. Easley was also born in Birmingham, Alabama.

Earlier in the day, I had messaged a fellow student about what librarians without a master’s degree are called.

“Feral Librarians,” Ginny remembered.

I was a feral librarian rabidly interested in finding a book source for this shy, yet curious young student.

“They called her the Human Calculator,” J said, and added that Easley worked for NASA.

Doesn’t she sound like a woman who should be in book about mathematicians and scientists?

J also called her a “programmer.”

I told J, her mom, and now her younger brother, who had joined our tour of reference, that I just learned about this new documentary called, Code: Debugging the Gender Gap.

This documentary shows the large gender and minority gap in the world of science, specifically, computer science. Sadly, our collection was helping prove their argument and this student had done her homework. She knew Easley’s middle initial, “J.” I learned later that Easley actually developed code for NASA.

Walking back to the catalog I asked J to check the general encyclopedias. She confirmed my initial doubt and there was no mention of her in Worldbook, or Encyclopedia Britannica.

“Who is this lady?” J’s little brother now wanted to know, as we grabbed two more books from the stacks. From then on, he joined us in our search.

J’s dad came by, and seeing the stack of books, suggested to his daughter that maybe she needed to find another person.

She was thumbing through a book, and looked over at him. I could tell she was ready to give up.

“No way,” I told the whole family, then looking at J I said, “You need to champion Easley.” I’d gone feral, and decided book sources be damned. “No book sources from the public library, well, use that in your paper,” I said. I smiled, she smiled. Not a Cheshire smile, but the kind of smile that said, “I’m not sure if this librarian is crazy or just more curious than a cat.”

 Some books without Annie Easley

“I’m sorry,” I said, frustrated and angry that I could not find a print source for her. This young woman had found a person, an African American like herself and a mathematician, programmer, and NASA employee and my resources failed. The whole family and I went back to the computer and found Easley’s Wikipedia page.

“You stumped the librarian today,” I told them, and was disappointed I did not have a book sources.

J knew about Alabama Virtual Library, but she hadn’t looked at Wikipedia’s sources.

Easley’s Wikipedia page linked to a 55 page PDF from NASA’s “Herstory” Oral history project. The document was the transcript of an interview with Easley about her life.

“That’s better than a book,” I said pointing at the screen, That’s a primary document. This is her own words.” J, and everyone in her family, thanked me. Her dad shook my hand. As they headed to circulation to check out some items, I realized that Wikipedia, libraries, and librarians do not compete. They compliment.

My name in a Textbook

It happened February 13, 2016 at 6:23 Eastern Standard Time. In my second semester of online library school at the University of Alabama.

I was reading Reference and Information Services: An Introduction by Kay Ann Cassell and Uma Hiremath (2013).

On Page 115 it states:

In the past, the stouthearted librarians of the New York Public Library

would prove this time and time again as they ventured into schools to

play the game, “Stump the Librarian.”

 

 

 

 

Do You Write in a Library?

For two hours on the last three Mondays I was in my element teaching a class on creative writing at Fairhope Public Library.

Nine wonderful library patrons paid the $20 refundable deposit and showed up for “Great Readers Make Great Writers: A Crash Course in Creative Writing.” It was a true crash course as each two-hour session covered creative nonfiction, fiction, and poetry.

Creative Nonfiction

In the first class, we got to know each other a little. My students ranged in age from thirty to ninety. The ninety year old is writing a gossip column for her community newsletter. The youngest is a coworker, sculptor, and installation artist. Many were retired, including several teachers, but I also had a stylist from a local salon.

Students enjoyed “Somehow Form a Family,” a personal essay by Tony Earley, and learned some lessons on craft from “On Keeping a Notebook,” by Joan Didion, and “This is What the Spaces Say,” by Robert Root.

The writing exercise I gave them for the first class was to skim through their notebooks, journals, or diaries, find an entry (a word, fragment, sentence, paragraph etc.) that interests or intrigues them and start writing.

“Reading fuels writing,” I said. When we read we are consciously and subconsciously learning and absorbing things we like and dislike. In this way, I believe each writer gleaned something from the readings and incorporated that little something into their writing, whether it was pop culture, a small detail, a setting, or a historic moment in their life.

For the next writing exercise, I handed out postcards from my collection and asked students to write to someone. After they finished writing, I told them to give the postcard to the person on their left. I instructed them to use the postcard given to them by a classmate as inspiration for a fictional writing journey for the next class.

Fiction

The fiction reading list included major amputee characters, a subject near and dear to my own heart.

“The Ironworkers’ Hayride,” from Robert Olen Butler’s collection Had a Good Time, was enjoyed by all the students for its humor but “Good Country People,” by Flannery O’Connor drew mixed reviews, mostly for being a bit too depressing. They did enjoy O’Connor’s ending.

We read aloud Chapter 3 from The Grapes of Wrath, by John Steinbeck. “The story of a turtle.” I told my students, but it’s so much more. I called it “Steinbeck’s three-page metaphor for living.”

The flash fiction I assigned left most readers confused. Perhaps this was due to my selections, or the newness of the genre. In very short fiction you have to be able to make leaps in the reading and that’s something difficult to do, even for me.

The fictional pieces from postcards, which is how Butler wrote his collection of stories, Had a Good Time, were fabulous.

They used the postcard images (Cape Cod and Tiffin Motorhomes) or the words on the back to write an account and most of them responded to the writer in a letter, but with a fictional spin about blacksmithing, dieting, and traveling.

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Poetry

Students gave mixed reviews on a chapter from The Odyssey, by Homer and translated by Robert Fagles, and the nature poems by Robert Frost.

“Facing It,” by Yusef Komunyakaa and a “Poem Guide” from The Poetry Foundation, is where we spent the most time. Having the guide helped students understand the depth of poetry upon a close reading of a few lines.

In addition to Homer’s epic poetry, the nature poems of Frost, and the ekphrastic poem of Komunyakaa, I chose works from two actual amputees.

“Invictus,” Latin for unconquered, by William Henley was written from a hospital bed after doctors believed Henley, who already had one leg amputated, was at risk of losing the other. They saved the leg, and Henley went on to achieve what I can only dream of. With “Invictus,” he became a one-hit wonder, but to his friend Robert Louis Stevenson he was much more. Henley became the inspiration for Long John Silver in Stevenson’s classic pirate novel, Treasure Island.

Jillian Weisse’s poems of her amputee childhood brought back some memories of our experiences in “Below water,” and some humor in “Holman, Age 10,” from her collection, The Amputee’s Guide to Sex.

Read, contemplate, imagine, think, reflect, write.

Many said writing the poem was the most difficult exercise but they used song lyrics, humor, civil rights, rhyme and repetition to discover how writing is a form of artistic expression.

These never happen in order, but having a few steps to get the creative writing process going is useful to all artists, including creative writers.

I heard recently that creative writing is no longer offered at many public schools. While this saddens me, I would like to keep creative writing classes alive in the public library, an idea that dovetails with my Master of Fine Arts degree in creative writing.

Let me tell you how fortunate I am to offer these programs. The leadership of Fairhope Public Library, recently named a “Gold Star” library by the Alabama Library Association (ALLA), encourages staff and patrons to share their expertise, hobbies, and passions with their communities. Sharing knowledge and information is the cornerstone of public libraries and I believe growing these learning, artistic, and continuing education opportunities is the future of public library programing.

Do you agree? If so, check out  Fairhope Library for what’s happening soon (Phil Klay author of Redeployment), and watch the “Events Calendar” for my summer creative writing series. I love sharing what I’ve learned with others, but there’s nothing more rewarding than hearing those voices read writing they have created.

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What Can You Learn From Steinbeck’s Classic?

Our book club, “Drinkers With a Reading Problem” met at Fairhope Brewing on Sunday evening. Thirteen of us, a large turnout for our group, came to discuss John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath.

Grapes Cover

We agreed to let Betty take the lead for this book. She immediately suggested we go around the table and air our impressions.

Irene talked about Steinbeck’s “marvelous descriptions.”

I mentioned that I had read the book in high school. It’s been thirty years since I read the book, and I explained to the group that the movie “clouded my memories of the book, especially the end.” I praised Steinbeck, as most did, and compared him to Hemingway and Sinclair.

While I could not recollect any memories, feelings, or reactions when Rose of Sharon lets a dying stranger suckle from her breast, many book clubbers commented on the scene.

Bob mentioned that the title of the book was a verse from the “Battle Hymn of the Republic,” and The Bible. He offered some Midwestern sensibility by suggesting that Rosasharn, if you are from the Midwest sounds an awful lot like rose is sharing, demonstrating the epitome of the word in that final scene.

Bob also felt that the Joads “lost a human scale,” once the tractors arrived.

A newcomer to the area and the club, who had not finished the book, used the opportunity to network. She’s in need of a job teaching High School English.

Judy talked about the significance of the turtle in Chapter 3 and it’s larger meaning for the Joad’s and humanity. She pulled out some notes about the shrub, rose of Sharon, and it’s horticultural properties, many of which aligned superbly with the character traits she was given by Steinbeck.

Betty quoted the scene with Casy the preacher and the roadside burial of Grampa.

This here ol’ man jus’ lived a life an’ jus’ died   out of it. I don’ know whether he was               good or bad, but that don’t matter much. He was alive, an’ that’s what matters. An               now he’s dead, an’ that don’t matter. Heard a fella tell a poem one time, an’ he says             ‘all that lives is holy.’ (144)

Wilson had started to read the book for a second time but got derailed by “the dialect.” He wound up listening, then playing his guitar and singing some Woody Guthrie tunes.

Robert called the book the “consciousness of America during the Depression and the labor movement.” He recommended another book by Steinbeck, Travels with Charley.

Donna praised the novelist for his, “use of description and for the evolution of the characters.”

Suzanne, and a few other, noted how depressing the book was, but empathized with the characters, and so continued to read. Despite these tests or perhaps because of them we read because we all endure.

After we all had a chance to comment we listened to Guthrie’s “Tom Joad, Part One and Two.” I think it was our second Bob, from Kentucky and a fan of Guthrie, who called the song another form of “Cliff Notes.”

I mentioned how the book was banned and how literature transcends the arts as The Grapes of Wrath is told in music, first through Guthrie, then Springsteen’s “The Ghost of Tom Joad,” which was covered by Rage Against the Machine, a song I carry with me on my phone.

Elliott, the club’s founding member, selected this month’s book. He arrived late, but quickly dove into the music conversation.

When I left the meeting, I didn’t know what to write about. It was my own fault that I was stumped. I didn’t bring one of my favorite scenes for consideration. In this scene Tom Joad and his brother Al meet a slovenly man with one eye. Tom doesn’t give a crap about his disability. Fix yourself up, get clean, put a patch over that eye Tom says. Then he tells the junk yard man a story.

Why, I knowed a one-legged whore one time. Think she was takin’ two bits in a           alley? No, by God! She’s gettin’ half a dollar extra. She says, ‘How many one-legged           women you slep’ with? None!’ she says. (179)

My regret was not hearing from others about this scene, given that I’m an amputee. After some reflection and distance from our wonderful discussion on a literary classic, I found my notes, and stuck my nose back in the book.

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It turns out that Tom needed to learn that all living things, the turtle, the one-eyed man, and the one-legged whore are all holy.

Then I reread this oft quoted passage where Tom Joad, who is hiding out in his own wilderness, is telling his Ma what he learned from Casy.

Says one time he went out in the wilderness to find his own soul an’ he foun’ he                 didn’ have no soul that was his’n. Says he foun’ he just got a little piece of a great big           soul. Says a wilderness ain’t no good, cause his little piece of a soul wasn’t no good           less it was with the rest and was whole. Funny how I remember. Didn’ think I was               even listenin’. But I now know a fella ain’t no good alone. (418)

The wilderness is where we do our thinking, if we are lucky to have the inclination, freedom, and time to do so. You can’t spend your whole life in the wilderness.

I can’t say for sure whether I’ve got a soul when I’m alone, thinking, and wandering around in my writing wilderness. I know I need that time, but I know I can’t stay there forever. I’ve been going to the “Drinkers” book club off and on for more than five years because I enjoy the fellowship.

We need time to be alone and together. Solitude for thinking and public areas for conversation are the fuel for community.

As we were leaving book club, I mentioned that I work at Fairhope Public Library.

A woman said, “I’m in the library four times a week and I’ve never seen you.”

I didn’t say anything, but later on I thought about how the rest of the conversation between Tom and his Ma went.

Next time you come in, look for me, I’ll be there.

Grapes Back

Are people dying to (Not) read this book?

I never should have checked the book out. Smoke Gets In Your Eyes: Other Lessons from the Crematory, by Caitlin Doughty is about death. There are lessons to be learned from this book and yet it is graphically detailed and not for the faint of heart. Doughty, in offering an insider’s look into death and funeral rites in America, attempts to “put the ‘fun’ back in funeral.” A few days after I started reading the book, someone died.

Dr. Hollis Wiseman

He was the godfather of the new, now nearly eight-year-old, Fairhope Public Library. My place of employment would not exist today without Hollis and his wife Teko’s efforts. I did not know Hollis well, but we always exchanged hellos and a little small talk whenever our paths crossed. I’m pleased to be a public servant in the house of books that Hollis built. I will also remember the couple whenever I ride on the Eastern Shore Trail, a 32 mile pedestrian and bike path the couple advocated for and funded.

In a rather winding yet conversational way, Doughty uses pornography to introduce the more serious subject of dealing with death as a child. Our first experience with death is often our childhood pet. As a child Doughty witnessed a little girl fall to her death in a mall which profoundly changed how she dealt with death. Weaving childhood memories into a book about funerals is not easy, but Doughty insists that we simply cannot ignore death. Doughty tells us the way to figure out your porn-star name is to combine the name of your first childhood pet with the name of the street you grew up on. Doughty’s porn-star name is Superfly Punalei and mine is Smokey Nanumet.

Gennaro D’Addio

I justified his death, saying, ‘well, he was 98.’ Jerry was a model library patron. He was a seeker of knowledge, a spry optimist, strategically sharp, ethical, faithful, and philosophical. Mere Google searches did not produce answers to Jerry’s questions. He made you think, and learn, and form your own opinions on a subject. In short, he sought information, I researched it for him and gave him the answer. In the process it taught me something about myself. Jerry was the most self-aware person I knew. More importantly, he insisted others be the same, especially librarians.

Jerry just happened to die on Halloween, Megan McRae’s birthday, my dad’s day of death, and Hollis Wiseman’s funeral. On Halloween, I was reading Doughty’s book when she’s in the crematory pressing the button on the retort to get the fire started and the body moving toward cremation. It was comforting to learn that anyone can request to witness a cremation. Family and friends gather, and someone, most likely the family member who presses every button in the toy store, would say goodbye with the press of a red button.

Media Vita In Morte Sumus, In the Midst of Life We Are in Death

‘Okay, it’s just a coincidence’ I told myself of the latest patron passing, and kept on reading. I learned about what goes on behind the black curtain. Not in Oz, where the wizard grants wishes, but in funeral homes throughout America. Many are owned by Service Corporation International. It was Jessica Mitford who first wrote about dying, the funeral industry, and cremation in The American Way of Death. Doughty blames and credits the 1962 bestseller for taking away the corpses from funerals.

As Men, We Are All Equal in the Presence of Death. Publilius Syrus

During the visitation for Jerry, I met his family including Matt, Chris, Becky and a few of his friends. Reverend Thack Dyson gave the service for Jerry at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in Daphne.

Next to the guest book, were copies of a poem, “One-Hoss Shay,” by Oliver Wendell Holmes.

This is the handwritten note from his family.

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Below is where the poem turns for me.

In fact, there’s nothing that keeps its youth,

So far as I know, but a tree and truth.

(This is a moral that runs at large;

Take it. — Your Welcome. — No extra Charge)

Charles McInnis

Charles too, loved the library, and volunteered with the reference department teaching a variety of classes. Charles’ memorial service, “Requiem for an Old Mule,” was held at the library. Many friends and family spoke fondly of Charles, whose family called him “Chock.” There is some tradition of funerals at the Fairhope Library. Marie Howland, founder of the Fairhope Library died in 1921. Howland’s service was held in the old library on Magnolia and Summit and Fairhope’s founding father E.B. Gaston stood over the body and delivered the eulogy.

During Charles’ service, P.T. Paul, a local poet, read William Faulkner’s Nobel Prize acceptance speech to the many friends and family in attendance. P.T. said she and Charles believed that “everything is cyclical.” P.T. read a poem by Charles that reflected this belief. His daughter reminded us, a somber group, that her dad was a practical joker too.

Death Should be Known. Caitlin Doughty

My mom always says bad news comes in threes, like deaths, strikes in baseball, or Stooges. Having reached that number, I was comforted that patrons would stop dying, so I kept on reading the book.

This was around the time in the book that Doughty was honing her black humor skills among her coworkers. There was the story of “the leg in the cooler.” Apparently a woman, suffering from diabetes had her leg amputated and wanted it cremated. “A pre-cremation,” Doughty calls it. Having a leg cremated sounds downright normal when you compare it to my previous post about the guy who had his leg preserved, made into a lamp, and then tried to sell it on eBay.

Doughty is doing the “Dance of the Macabre” in her memoir, but she emphasizes both the cultural and personal connection to death, “as a mental physical, and emotional process,” that should be, “respected and feared for what it is.”

LaSonia Wintzell

I never met her personally. I only know her daughter, my brother Mark’s girlfriend Kim. The obituary Kim wrote was very personal and captured LaSonia’s essence. During the visitation on Tuesday, I sat in the pew quietly for a few moments thinking about Kim and her siblings, and how losing the matriarch often means losing the family center.

“First time in Bayou La Batre?” Kim asked.

“No,” I said, “Second,” though it had been nearly a decade since the last visit. This time, I noticed that we came into Bayou La Batre on Wintzell Ave.

St. Margaret’s Church is a beautiful brick and stained glass Catholic church. I glanced at the open casket. I decided I didn’t need to get any closer and admired the flowers, especially the sunflowers, regretting that I did not wear my sunflower tie fearing it would be too “upbeat” for a visitation.

This was the only body at all the services I attended. Sadly, Doughty pointed out that even dying is all online now. Yes, just like applying for a job, or renewing your auto tags, you can carry out the last wishes of a person with an internet connection and a credit card. Corpses are now optional.

The Meaning of Life is That it Ends. Franz Kafka

I finished reading the book, but I didn’t check it back in. The book was grotesque, dark, and funny, in a creepy and informative way. Doughty lets the light in to the dark corners of death. The places where no one dead or alive wants to go. So, I put the book down. For a while. I picked it back up and started rereading passages. Was I obsessed with death? Not obsessed, but interested in learning about what happens to our bodies after we are cold. I was planning on writing a blog about the book, so I renewed it.

“Human Beings are not nature’s favorites. We are merely one of a multitude of species upon which nature indiscriminately exerts its force.” Camille Paglia

In between the memorial services for Jerry and Charles early Saturday afternoon, I went to Knoll Park. I walked the small hill up to the top where the bay comes into view through a shadow box of Long Leaf Pine tree trunks. I thought about these two men.

Whenever I need to think, or reflect, I head outdoors. There is something comforting to me of being outside during a loss, or rather, a remembering.

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I see the purple flower. I call it a flower, but it could be a weed. It provides color in a brown and gray landscape. It feels fresh, alive, and youthful. I don’t feel that way on this day. Beneath that flower is a layer of decomposition and decay. I find myself walking over decay and wonder where my remains should rest. On a mantle, in the forest, or scattered at sea. At one time I wanted them scattered on the bluff of my old back yard in Falmouth, overlooking the cranberry bogs and Mill Pond. I live here now, and there’s no going back. I have no doubt that while wandering through the park, I was walking in Marie Howland’s footsteps.

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Carole Kaiser

When you first hear bad news it is always a shock. I’m still bewildered that my coworker of seven years died on Saturday. We often kiddingly called Carole “The Queen,” because she had style. She also liked to talk about a town in Scotland that sounded a lot like a swear. “All aboard for Muckle Flugga,” she’d say with her Scottish tongue, firmly planted in her cheek. it’s hard to believe that the Queen’s gone to the great library in the sky. Carole is now with the King of Kings.

It Won’t Help to Hear What I Think About Death. Carl Jung

I went to the library today and returned Smoke Gets in Your Eyes. Not surprisingly, no one had a hold for a book about a mortician in a funeral home trying to change how we think about death in America. As I went through the library, we librarians held onto each other. I welled up a couple of times, but managed to choke down a few sobs. I learned that there will be a service for Carole Thursday at 4 PM at St. Paul’s in Daphne. The library will close at 3 PM so we can all attend the service.

Just like every book we read heightens our literary sensibilities, memorial services should heighten our awareness of our own mortality. I will be there. To think, meditate, and wonder what her death means to her family, her fellow librarians, and her many friends. How will her death shape my future. If you do not learn anything from reading books or death, are you really living? Doughty’s book uses humor to coax people not just into thinking about death, but in doing some actual planning to ensure what she calls a “good death.” (If you subscribe to this humor theory, please leave your porn-star name in the comments.)

I already know this service will be different than the others. I knew Carole. She was more than a patron, she was a trusted friend. I’m thankful that I’ll be surrounded, comforted, and consoled by my library family on Thursday. In between all the tears, sniffles, and sadness, I hope as we remember Carole over the next few days we can share a few funny memories too.

 

How to Pay it Forward

I had 18 people attend my class, “Starting a Blog with Stump: the Librarian.” It was a wonderful mix of familiar and new faces, including library patrons, business owners, artists, photographers, and writers.

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My class at the library was an introduction to blogging. Patrons did not create a blog and start posting in my class. There was not enough time. It was a not-too-serious, but informative, learning environment. I told them to think up a clever name that combines who you are with what you want to say, but cautioned some of the good domains may already be taken. “Without a leg to stand on” was my first choice, but Stump: The Librarian is actually better, since I’m writing about amputees and libraries. I hope my passion for blogging was evident in my enthusiasm for sharing what I’d learned about blogging. I wanted each person to determine for themselves if they should start a blog.

Several people signed up after hearing about the class from fellow blogger Karyn Tunks, the guest speaker at Pensters, a local writing group. Library volunteers, Nonfiction Book Club members, Genealogy Club members, and a couple of co-workers sat in on the session. In my last post, I wrote about connecting with community. I could swear these people had read it because that’s exactly what we had in the computer lab yesterday.

Since I had such a convergence of community, I’m paying it forward to another local organization that provides educational opportunities. The Eastern Shore Institute for Lifelong Learning (ESILL) bills itself as “school for the fun of it.” The classes are not free, but they are very reasonable. Four ESILL instructors attended my blogging class who are also part of Pensters. Gene, Jane, Fred, and Rosanne teach photography, art, ancient wisdom, and writing, respectively. Bloggers and future bloggers should check out Blogging 101. I’m constantly looking for opportunities to continue my leg-ucation. Fall is a great time to learn something new.